


Stitches

by Strange_Fascination



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cas repairing Dean's soul, Castiel & Dean Winchester Friendship, Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_Fascination/pseuds/Strange_Fascination
Summary: Before Dean could decide if his situation was good or bad, a man walked in. And Dean changed in that instant. Not only did he know this man would never hurt him, that he was safe. But he also knew that everything he was, everything he had been, was now different. And this person—whoever he was—was part of that.





	1. Chapter 1

****  
“We do share a more profound bond. I wasn’t going to mention it.”  
_______________________________ 

****

Castiel waited patiently in Michael’s favorite heaven. It was a simple home, warm and cozy. A fire burned in the fireplace, an old spinning wheel sat in the corner, and a quilt was draped across the back of the over-stuffed couch. It was the heaven of an 18 th century woman—her home when she had lived. Castiel always marveled at that. Her life in her humble home was so calm and complete that she simply continued it in heaven. How many people could claim a life so well-lived? 

“I apologize for my tardiness.” Michael said as he walked in. “Thank you for meeting with me, brother.” 

“Of course.” Castiel replied, bowing his head. “Ezekiel told me you have an important mission for me.” 

“The most important.” Michael motioned toward the couch. “Please sit down.” 

Both men sat down opposite each other at an old wooden table. 

“As you know, Castiel, you have always proven yourself a valuable asset to Heaven.” 

“I will always serve Heaven to the best of my ability.” 

“You have also done well in our mission to protect God’s creatures. The humans.” Michael continued. 

“That was his final command.” Castiel said. Michael smiled slightly. 

“Indeed. Which is why I have chosen you for this mission.” 

“Whatever I may do for the cause.” Castiel nodded solemnly. 

“You must retrieve my true vessel.” Michael said, the command implicit in his tone. Castiel looked somewhat confused. 

“Yes, of course.” He tilted his head the way he always did when he didn’t quite understand something. “I shall go to Earth immediately.” 

“He is in Hell.” 

There was a brief silence. 

“What’s the plan?” Castiel asked. 

“A force has been assembled.” Michael explained. “They are at the ready. You need only join them. Uriel and his soldiers will hold off the demons. It is your job to retrieve Dean Winchester. This is very important Castiel—you and only you must touch my vessel during this time. His soul has been in Hell for forty years. It is imperative that he is handled with the utmost care. And only one angel may touch him for the rest of the plan to work.” 

Castiel nodded. “I will rescue Dean Winchester.” 

“I’m afraid it doesn’t end there.” Michael went on. “You see, he will be greatly damaged due to his time in Hell. His body must be healed, and his soul intact enough to consent to possession. In short, you must not only rescue Dean, but also repair him.” 

“I—I’m no healer.” Castiel said slowly. “I’m a soldier. Surely a Rit Zien--” 

“I will have a healer to assist you in any way necessary.” Michael assured him. “But it must be you, Castiel.” 

“But why?” Castiel asked. His tone wasn’t insolent or challenging, but genuinely curious. “Surely there are others more suited to the task?” 

“Your loyalty to the mission of protecting the humans borders on affection,” and Castiel detected a hint of derision in Michael’s voice. “That…compassion will prove most valuable. I do not want a broken vessel, shoddily cobbled together by some angel who could not care less about them. I want a vessel that is well and truly mended, inside and out.” 

Castiel said nothing, his nod almost undetectable 

“The amount of repairs involved will be extensive.” Michael said. “And human souls, they’re so fragile. Which is why it is advised for only one angel to touch them. It will leave a…residue of sorts, and more than one angel poking around could cause confusion, even damage. And I do not desire a vessel that has been scarred and weakened by any such chaos.” 

“I will fetch your vessel, my brother.” Castiel vowed solemnly. “And I shall do all in my power to restore him for you.” 

“Very well. You shall leave in two days.” Michael said in a tone that clearly dismissed him. “Report to Uriel tomorrow. He will brief you on the particulars of the siege.” 

Castiel made to leave. 

“Oh, and Castiel?” Michael called out. Castiel turned to face his brother. “Perhaps after you see them from the inside, see how crudely they are assembled, you will understand how truly unremarkable they really are. This mission, it will be most enlightening for you.” 

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that, so simply repeated his usual refrain. 

“I will gladly serve Heaven.” 

____________________________________________________ 

The siege on Hell had been the worst bloodbath Castiel had seen. Ever. They lost so many people. But Uriel had done his job. While Castiel had been attacked, the amount of resistance he faced had been minimal compared to his brothers and sisters who had accompanied him on this mission. With every ache, every stabbing pain, he reminded himself that the others had it worse. They were his shield.

When they reached Dean Winchester, he was not on the rack. He was manning it. He stared up at the angels, curious and apprehensive. When Castiel flew down to grab him, Dean fought. 

“I’m here to rescue you.” Castiel said. Dean continued to struggle. 

“Sam sent us.” Uriel screamed to Dean while fending off two demons. Dean hesitated for only a moment before acquiescing. Castiel was grateful for Uriel. He would not have thought to lie. Castiel grabbed him around the chest, hand gripping his shoulder. Dean screamed, the touch searing into him. Castiel could smell the acrid, almost metallic scent of burning soul—quite unlike the smell of burning flesh. Dean instinctively tried to pull away, but Castiel held tight to him, and began the long flight out from perdition. 


	2. Chapter 2

Once in Heaven, Dean slept for a long time. Castiel didn’t know souls to ever sleep. But then, he had never before seen a soul that had been so tortured in Hell. They decided Dean should heal in the Heaven of Dr. Moore, a surgeon who had died about ten years ago. It appeared to be a typical human hospital. Should Dean wake up, he would not be surprised or disturbed by his surroundings. 

Lauriel, a Rit Zien, had been assigned to assist Castiel, though she seemed only minimally invested in the task. She would drop off texts and answer simple questions, but it could not have been clearer that she found this mission to be beneath her. She found humans to be beneath her. 

“I heal _angels._ ” Castiel heard her murmur under her breath. “Not these… _things._ ” 

So Castiel was more or less on his own. At first, he was concerned about touching the vessel, that it could somehow damage the human. But whatever had occurred in Hell when Castiel first touched him, it did not repeat itself. Castiel could easily touch Dean without burning him. 

He woke the human briefly at regular intervals to feed him nectar, as per the text’s instructions, but it didn’t appear to be enough. The long gashes in his soul seemed to prevent proper healing. Dean needed…well, he needed stitches of some sort. But there were no such instructions in the texts, and Lauriel had been less than helpful when Castiel had suggested it. 

“Common thread isn’t going to do anything but pollute him.” She had said simply. “Just give it time, Castiel. If he doesn’t heal, Michael will simply have to make do with another vessel.” 

But Dean was Michael’s true vessel, planned for and bred specifically for the purpose. Castiel would not fail in his task. The only time Dean’s pain seemed lessened was when Castiel’s grace was in physical contact with him. But he couldn’t have his grace touching the human at all times. That wasn’t practical. He was so ill-suited to this task. If only he could talk to an expert regarding human healing. 

Then it hit him. 

“I’m an utter fool.” He said aloud. He had an expert, right here in this Heaven. Castiel immediately began searching the halls for Dr. Moore. 

_________________________________________________ 

He was easy enough to find. He spent most of his time in the surgery  
theater, elbows-deep in a patient. Castiel walked into the room, only to be  
met with a shout.

“MASK!” Dr. Moore demanded. “For god’s sake, put a mask on!” Castiel rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. 

“What can I do for you?” the doctor asked, calmer than before, not looking up from the elderly man’s open chest. 

“I need some advice regarding healing.” Castiel answered. Dr. Moore looked up at him, confusion written on his dark features. 

“You? An angel? You need _my_ help?” 

“Yes.” 

Dr. Moore turned back to his patient. “Let me finish Mr. Humphry’s bypass, and I’ll be right there.” Castiel sighed in mild annoyance. “Is there something wrong?” Dr. Moore asked, a bite to his voice. 

“You do realize this isn’t real, right?” Castiel said. “This patient, this surgery—none of it. But my—my patient, he is very real, and needs real help. Soon.” 

Dr. Moore put down his scalpel and gave Castiel a dagger look. 

“This may not be real to you, angel,” the doctor’s voice was full of venom. “But this is all I have now. These patients, these surgeries, they are my eternal existence. An existence _your kind_ has given me. Now I’m not saying I’m not grateful. I am. It’s all I could ever ask for. But I am not at your beck and call. This is _my_ heaven, understand?” He turned back to his surgery. “I will consult with you regarding your patient when I am finished. You’re in room 29, yes?” 

Castiel nodded, cowed by the doctor’s unexpected outburst. He watched the surgery for a few more minutes before returning to Dean. 

____________________________________________________ 

“Is this the patient?” Dr. Moore asked, putting on gloves as he entered the  
room.

“Yes.” Castiel replied. “This is Dean Winchester.” 

If the doctor was shocked by the state of the human soul resting on the bed, he didn’t show it. Without his usual surgical mask covering his face, Castiel was able to see the doctor properly. He appeared young—far too young to be a surgeon. He could not have been more than twenty years old. Eternal youth was the norm for most humans in Heaven. A surgical cap still covered his closely-trimmed hair, and his white scrubs contrasted starkly with his dark skin. 

“The lacerations are deep.” He said, carefully assessing the damage with a gloved hand. “He needs stitches.” 

“Not possible.” Castiel replied. “I’ve been told common thread would pollute his soul.” 

Dr. Moore shrugged. “Find uncommon thread, then.” 

Castiel sighed in exasperation. “Contact with my grace is the only thing that seems to heal him. But the amount of contact required to heal him is too extensive. The moment I withdraw my grace, the gashes open up again.” 

“Listen, I don’t know much about healing souls.” Dr. Moore said. “But I know injuries. And these injuries, they need to be closed up properly. I don’t know how you can do that without ‘polluting’ him--” the doctor used air quotes, “—but that’s what your patient needs. Close the wounds, then give him time.” 

“There must be another way.” Castiel shook his head. 

“There may very well be. But you came to a human doctor. You wanted a human answer. And that’s all I can give you.” 

They both looked down at Dean, feeling somewhat helpless. 

“Well, I’m scheduled for an appendectomy in half an hour.” Dr. Moore said, standing up to head for the door. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Castiel didn’t look up from Dean. “Thank you for your expertise.” 

“I wish I could be more help.” The doctor replied sadly, placing a hand on the angel’s shoulder before leaving. 

Castiel sat there for a long time, mulling it over. How could he close the wounds without polluting Dean’s soul? How do you make stiches without thread? 

_Find uncommon thread._ Dr. Moore’s words echoed in Castiel’s head. An idea—a strange, reckless idea, began to take shape. 

It would be unorthodox, to say the least. But there really wasn’t much precedent to draw on in this situation. The mission was too important to allow any apprehension. 

He set off to find the necessary supplies. 


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel found his way once again to Michael’s favorite Heaven. Michael wasn’t there, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need Michael for this. He needed the woman. While Michael might enjoy this place and conduct business here, it actually belonged to her. Castiel found her sitting in her rocking chair, a large quilting hoop in her lap. 

“Excuse me?” Castiel asked, and the old woman looked up from her quilting. He quickly searched his memory for her name. “Maeve, right?” 

“Yes.” Maeve nodded, her silver hair glistening in the sunlight from the window. Castiel always wondered why she appeared so old here. Most people were eternally young and virile in Heaven. Yet her everlasting peace was in this wizened form. 

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” Castiel began politely. “But I was wondering if I might borrow your spinning wheel?” He waved toward the old wooden relic in the corner. Maeve regarded him curiously for a moment, then smiled. 

“Yes, of course, young man.” She replied. Castiel was slightly amused at being called ‘young’ by a human, but took it in stride. 

“Thank you.” 

“You aren’t like the others.” Maeve said. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You have a kindness in you, Castiel.” She smiled. He was a little surprised she knew his name. “The other angels, they would not have asked.” 

“Well, it seemed only prudent to do so. This is your Heaven, after all.” 

“The others, they talk, you know.” Maeve’s tone became quite serious. “I hear a lot of things, seeing as Michael so enjoys my little place.” 

Castiel swallowed. Surely Michael had not thought of that—the human ears that could hear him. 

“Oh, sure, he thinks of me as some doddering old lady, senile and harmless. And for the most part, I am.” She chuckled. “But they do tend to underestimate people. Just as they underestimate you, Castiel.” 

“I don’t understand what you mean.” 

“Don’t lose your kindness.” The old woman said, going back to her quilting. “It sets you apart, in the best way possible.” 

The angel stared at her, dumbfounded. 

“Enjoy the wheel.” Maeve said, clearly dismissing him. “Keep it as long as you like.” 

_____________________________________________________ 

Castiel transported the spinning wheel to his favorite Heaven. He double-checked that there was no one around. What he was about to do…well, it wasn’t _wrong_ exactly, but it was weird. And unpleasant, to say the least. Some instinctive part of him knew it was best if no one else found out about it. The only person present was the autistic man who inhabited this particular Heaven, happily flying his kite. He would not talk. Castiel moved the wheel into the small garden shed nearby, just in case someone decided to visit.

He had to work quickly. 

He got out his angel blade and a small glass vial. Then he hesitated. There had to be another way. Perhaps he could request another Rit Zien? One a little more enthusiastic about the project. Yet somehow he knew such an angel didn’t exist. In an attempt to get the courage to do what needed to be done, he thought of Michael. Their leader, the ruler of Heaven, needed his true vessel. Heaven needed Dean Winchester at any cost. 

Still Castiel froze, the blade on his Adam’s apple. Then he thought of the broken soul on the bed. The human who was lying unconscious, weak and fragile with injuries sustained in Hell. And how Castiel alone could be the one to make him whole again. 

_Protect the humans._

And that did it. Castiel nicked himself with the tip of the blade, allowing a small amount of his grace to flow into the glass vial. He could not stop the scream that escaped his lips. Pain, loss, emptiness—no word really described what he felt in that moment. 

Castiel gave himself a few minutes to recover before sitting at the spinning wheel. He knew the wheel had been cleaned and purified in all possible ways. Michael would not allow any impurities in the Heaven he used for business. So he need not worry about any sort of pollution or infection developing. His immediate concern was that his plan wouldn’t actually work. 

Having never used a spinning wheel, Castiel slowly got a feel for it. The speed at which to push the treadle, where to place the…material. He swallowed hard, wishing he had time to practice. Instead, willing his grace to be as solid as possible, he began to feed it through the orifice. His grace seemed to understand what to do, which was good, because Castiel really was out of his element. He tentatively pumped the treadle, and watched as his grace began to slowly transform into the finest, incandescent thread, spinning easily onto the spool. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there, his concentration so fully focused on the task at hand. He had one full spool of thread when he was finished. He wondered if perhaps he should attempt to make more, but what was left of the grace within him lurched at the prospect of going through it again. He also needed to return the wheel before its absence was noticed by Michael. This one spool of thread would have to do. 


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel made it clear that he was not to be disturbed, not even by Lauriel or Dr. Moore. He said the vessel was quite fragile, and any disruption could set back his progress. This wasn’t strictly a lie, so he was able to sell it. The angel who guarded the door nodded with a “yes sir” before stepping aside to let him in. 

Castiel took a moment to look over the human in the bed. The largest gashes were in his right side, to he decided to start there. He carefully threaded a purified needle, then pierced Dean’s soul. As the thread slid through, they both felt it. 

It wasn’t a burning exactly. It was a drop of warmth, a heat just shy of uncomfortable that slowly spread its way through their entire being. Dean moaned and shifted in the bed. 

“Try to stay still.” Castiel said softly. It was hard to stitch a moving target. Dean seemed to understand, and stopped moving. 

Castiel continued to stitch, feeling the warmth flow through himself as well. With each stitch, he became more acutely aware of the human soul lying beneath him. Like he was being pulled toward him. Each stitch didn’t just mend Dean’s soul, but also wove Castiel’s very essence into Dean. Part of him, the logical part, demanded that he stop. This was clearly unwise. Being this close to a human could not end well. 

But Michael needed his true vessel. Heaven needed this advantage over Lucifer to win. Besides, it was too late. Castiel looked down at Dean and already felt drawn to him, protective of him. He had barely said a word to the human, but already felt an inexplicable fondness for him. The stitches had bound them. 

And Castiel was strangely okay with that. 

Finishing one gash, he immediately began work on another. It was tedious, painstaking work. The stitches seemed to almost melt into the human, so they would thankfully go unnoticed. Their heat had an effect similar to cauterization, sealing the wounds tight. They could hopefully come out soon. 

Castiel’s heart ached a little at the thought of the stitches being removed. He shook the feeling off. 

_It’s only because of the stitches._ He told himself. _Once they are removed, these feelings of connection will pass._

He had only just finished tying off the final stitch and put away the needle when the door burst open. 

Michael. 

“Hello, Castiel.” He strode over to the bed. “I hear you have been locked up with my vessel all day.” 

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. “I do believe I have made some progress.” 

Michael looked down at Dean, clearly pleased. 

“Indeed. You have done well, Castiel. What methods did you use?” 

Castiel panicked for a split second. Somehow he knew Michael would not approve of his method. Having part of another angel’s grace within his vessel’s soul was…wrong. Dirty. Michael might reject the vessel altogether if he knew. And that would not be good for Heaven. 

It was best if Michael remained in the dark about it. For his own good. For Heaven. 

“Regular healing treatments, similar to those used on their bodies.” Castiel finally replied. He was a terrible liar, but Michael seemed to buy it. 

“You must be exhausted.” Michael didn’t really sound concerned, though. 

“A small price to pay.” 

Michael continued to look down at Dean. Castiel froze, hoping he wouldn’t notice the fine, gossamer threads of grace within the soul. 

“Good work.” Michael smiled, apparently satisfied. “I knew I could count on you.” He turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at Castiel. 

“Castiel, did you see how this human was put together? Do you see what they are now?” 

Castiel nodded, looking down at the vessel. At Dean. 

“Yes, Michael. I see.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Dean Winchester had a long and colorful history of waking up in unusual places. When he was 18, he woke up in the back of Dan Robert’s truck. He had passed out with Misty Reynolds after a night of drinking what he could only assume was cherry flavored gasoline. 

At 22, he woke up in a witch’s basement after she had placed him under a spell during a hunt. Thankfully, John had come to the rescue then. 

There was the time he had woken up in the creep show dungeon when the djinn had drugged him into his happy place. Sam had been there on that lovely occasion to pull him out. 

There were at least another dozen times he woke up in a place without remembering how or why he got there. So waking up in a simple hospital room was actually quite pleasant compared to other situations he’d landed himself in. 

In fact, he was downright content. It took only a few seconds to realize the pain was gone. He still ached, but the ever-present agony had lifted. 

He was out of Hell. 

But then, where was he? Panic slowly set in the more he came to his senses. No rack, no Alastair. No burn. No blood. No new victim awaiting his cruel ministrations. 

Just this soft bed, and the dull ache of healing wounds. Despite the ache, he felt…good. Sort of. Like there was this warmth inside him. Something he hadn’t felt before. It was strange and, coupled with the unfamiliar surroundings, unsettling. 

But neither John nor his brother was anywhere in sight. 

Before he could decide if his situation was good or bad, a man walked in. And Dean changed in that instant. Not only did he know this man would never hurt him, that he was safe. But he also knew that everything he was, everything he had been, was now different. And this person—whoever he was—was part of that. 

This wasn’t a romantic notion, or some odd emotional outburst. It was a simple fact. Dean was different now, and this man was at the center of it. 

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asked, his voice less hoarse and ragged than he expected it to be. The man regarded him with the kind of look that normally indicates decades of friendship. Unnaturally blue eyes caught his with an intensity only ever matched by his brother. 

“Sam is on earth. Safe.” The man replied. 

“Who are you?” Dean asked, trying and failing to get to his feet. 

“My name is Castiel. I raised you from Hell.” His voice was deep and kind, but with an edge to it. It reminded him a bit of Bobby, but less gruff. More proper. 

Bobby. Sam. All these people this stranger reminded him of. And he didn’t even know the guy. But he felt like he did. Something inside him _knew_ this man, but he couldn’t place it. Like that phenomenon when you recognize a person’s face, but not their name. Only magnified a hundred times. 

“Oh.” Dean wasn’t sure what to say to that. Confusion, gratitude, and apprehension all ran through him at once. “Well, thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“So, uh…Castiel, is it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where am I?” 

“You are in Heaven.” So matter-of-fact. 

“Excuse me?” Dean gave Castiel the side eye. “I’m where?” 

“Heaven.” Castiel replied simply. 

“Okay. Um, why?” Dean asked, frustrated that this Castiel seemed so calm about the matter. Like the information he was providing wasn’t earth-shattering. “Even if I believed Heaven exists, which I don’t, why would you take me there?” 

“I had to bring you here after I raised you from perdition.” Castiel explained. “Earth would not have the required supplies to heal you.” 

“Raised me from perdition?” Dean asked with a laugh. “Who talks like that?” 

Castiel looked puzzled, his head tilted to the side like a puppy. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and they both jumped back. But not before feeling it. 

A warmth spread through them. Dean felt emotion in the oddest places. Instead of feeling it in his chest or head, he felt it in his side. He felt it in his hip. He felt it across his right cheekbone. Something stronger than friendship. It was a mixture of compassion, camaraderie, fondness, and loyalty. To call it mere love seemed inadequate. 

And Dean felt it not only in his heart, but all over. Pure kindness burning through a line across his torso. Laughter making its way across his ankle. A jagged stripe of devotion from his hip to his shoulder. The shoulder that bore the handprint. And that handprint? 

Well, it burned with something far more profound than Dean had words to describe. It burned with the comfort of a warm campfire, the calm of stargazing, the choked feeling you get when you’re about to cry—all that and more, rolled into one single space on his shoulder. 

Dean stared at the angel for a long moment, knowing he should feel frightened. He should be scared shitless right now, but he wasn’t. He was disoriented, tired, and confused. But not scared. 

“What the hell was that?” He asked. 

“I—I’m not sure.” Castiel replied, equally bewildered. “It must be from the stitches.” 

“Okay, buddy.” Dean said, all business. “You’re gonna have to back this story up and start from the beginning.” 

_________________________________________________________________________ 

“An _angel?_ ” Dean asked, clearly still having difficulty with the  
concept. “Like, harps and halos, full-blown _angels?_ ”

“I don’t play a harp.” Castiel replied seriously. “I am not particularly musically inclined. Although some have said I have a fair singing voice--” 

“Shut up.” Dean said. And Castiel inexplicably obeyed. 

“So you brought me up from Hell.” Dean continued. 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re healing me.” 

“Yes.” 

“You’ve stitched me together with your _grace._ Which is like your…angel mojo?” 

“I believe that would be an accurate assessment of the situation.” 

“Don’t get me wrong. I—I’m grateful.” Dean made to get up off the bed, but then thought better of it. “But why? Why me? I know Sam didn’t really send you.” 

“He didn’t. Uriel said that in order to gain your trust.” 

“Yeah, he lied. I figured that out.” Dean said dismissively. “So my question still stands. Why me?” 

“You are the true vessel of the archangel Michael.” Castiel replied. “You will be his vessel in the coming apocalypse.” 

“I’m a what, now?” 

“The archangel Michael must take human form to defeat his brother, Lucifer. Your human form.” 

“So I’m going to be possessed by an angel. To fight the devil?” Dean suddenly looked angry. “You’ve healed me just so I can be used?” 

Castiel was taken aback. He hadn’t really thought of it that way. 

“To be Michael’s vessel is an honor. You will be a hero in Heaven and on earth.” 

Rage flashed through Dean’s eyes. “Do I even have a choice?” 

“Yes. Unlike demons, an angel cannot use you as a vessel without your consent.” 

“Oh, well that’s easy, then.” Dean smirked. “The answer is no. It will always be NO. I will never be used.” 

The angel sighed. “Well, you have some time to think it over. You are not yet healed.” 

“I don’t need the time.” Dean replied. “But thanks.” 

Castiel looked at Dean, something stirring in him. In all his time watching humans, never before had he seen one so adamant, so sure. 

“You should rest.” Castiel instructed. “This has been taxing for you.” 

“Right, I can totally sleep now.” Dean said sarcastically as he tried to sit up again, but the angel’s hand on his chest stopped him. 

And that feeling happened again. Every part of his body that had been stitched flared up with that indescribable heat. That grace connection. Whatever it was. 

“Stop that.” Dean said, but it came out softly, like he wanted the exact opposite. 

“I’m sorry.” Castiel replied in the same tone. They stayed like that for a long moment, letting the sensation wash over them. 

“As your healer, I advise you to rest.” Castiel finally said, stepping away. 

Dean nodded, sliding down into the bed. He was asleep in seconds. 


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel took an odd pleasure in watching Dean sleep. The concept of sleep was foreign to him, as it was not required for angels. The changes to Dean while he was asleep were also fascinating. Castiel has always assumed sleep was like an “off” switch. That the human simply closed their eyes and stayed still for a few hours. But that wasn’t the case. Dean would twitch in his sleep, mumble, and even say the occasional word (usually “Sam”). 

Despite these disturbances, Dean seemed peaceful overall. His face, usually lined with anger or determination, was smooth and relaxed. His mouth hung open slightly, his breathing slow and even. Castiel felt a great peace himself at watching him. Dean was resting. Dean was safe. And that set Castiel at ease, more so than anything else had in his thousands of years. 

Castiel was unsettled by this. _It will all go away when the stitches come out._ He reminded himself. _This connection is temporary._

That should have made him feel better. But it actually made him feel worse. Before he could dwell on it, Dean began to stir. 

“Shit. I feel like crap.” Dean muttered. 

“We should probably get you up and walking today.” Castiel said. “I have read that movement is necessary for human recovery.” 

“You read it?” Dean asked incredulously. “You mean you’ve never done this before?” 

“No. No one has.” Castiel replied. “This truly is a unique situation.” 

“So all that…stuff. With the stitches? That isn’t normal?” 

“None of this is normal.” 

“That’s pretty much my life motto at this point.” Dean quipped as Castiel helped him to his feet. They had both grown accustomed to the feeling of the bond now. It seemed less jarring and more comforting with each time they experienced it. Dean braced himself for pain as he began to walk, but mostly just felt weak and tired. He felt like a complete tool for needing to lean on Castiel, but was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. He let the angel assist him in walking across the room. 

“So, the, ah…the stitches.” Dean began, trying to make conversation to distract himself from the fatigue that was already setting in. “You did that to us, to me.” 

Castiel sensed an annoyance in Dean’s voice, something verging on anger. 

“Yes.” 

“Well, I guess I didn’t get much of a say.” 

“You were unconscious at the time. Had I known the extent of the bond, or had I known another avenue of treatment, I would have done things differently.” Castiel explained, supporting Dean as he turned to head back to the bed. 

“And all of it—it’s so Michael can wear me for his big date with Lucifer.” 

“That is correct.” 

“So you gave me this freaky-ass grace bond that _nobody_ knows anything about, without asking me, so some angel can use me later.” 

“That is a crude but accurate assessment of the situation.” Castiel helped Dean sit on the bed. 

“Well, I gotta tell ya, Cas. That…that blows.” Dean tried to stay upright, but ended up falling to his side. “I mean, I feel like I trust you, that you wouldn’t hurt me. But maybe that’s just because I’ve got your mojo inside me, holding me together. Maybe I shouldn’t trust you at all. After all, your endgame is getting your pal Michael inside me, and not in the fun sexy way.” 

“Cas?” Castiel asked, head tilted. 

“Really? Outta all of that, all you got was a nickname?” 

“I’ve never had a nickname.” Castiel—Cas—said, his lips quirked for a split second in an almost-smile. “And you can trust me. I would not hurt you, Dean Winchester. As for Michael…come what may.” 

“Well, I’ll never say yes. Just so you know.” Dean tried to summon up all his bravado, but it was hard while lying down, barely able to hold his eyes open. That small walk across the room really took it out of him. 

As Cas watched Dean slip into unconsciousness, he felt something akin to relief at Dean’s words. Somehow, the idea of Michael taking Dean as a vessel was no longer appealing to him. Cas couldn’t pinpoint exactly what he felt. There was concern, yes. The vessels of archangels typically don’t hold up well. But there was something else. Something almost primal that welled up in Cas at the thought of Michael taking Dean’s body. 

_Possessiveness._ Cas realized. _I feel that Dean is mine._ Cas tried to shake off the feeling. 

_When the stitches come out, these feelings of connection will pass._ He tried to assure himself. 

_I hope._

_________________________________________________________

Time seemed to free-flow over the days to come. Dean began to walk more easily, going from a walker, to a cane, then to walking independently. They didn’t intend to talk so much, but it just came naturally. 

Cas learned that Dean loved pie. Dean loved his car. But mostly, he loved his brother, Sam, who he basically raised while their father hunted. Dean hated flying, but lived for the open road. He lost his virginity to Robin, a girl he knew when he spent time in a boy’s home for petty theft. 

Dean learned that Cas…well, Cas did what he was told. He was an angel. He followed orders, and had for centuries. He had a comrade named Balthazar of whom he spoke fondly, but mostly just to say he was a good soldier. 

Dean didn’t intend to laugh so much. But it just came easily with Cas, which didn’t make much sense. He’d just survived years in Hell. He was being prepped as a meat suit for the damn _apocalypse._ He should be hating every minute of his miserable existence. 

But he didn’t. With every touch, his bond with the angel deepened. God, he’d never touched anyone so much—not even Sam. On the surface, it made sense. Cas was basically acting as his doctor. Cas had to touch him in order to heal him. 

There was so much going on beneath the surface, though. Ties that should take years to forge took only hours. Within in few short days, they seemed to know each other more thoroughly than anyone else had ever known them. 

And it could be a trap, Dean knew. Perhaps Cas was here to gain information through this link. 

But he need only touch the angel to know this wasn’t the case. Dean couldn’t pinpoint how he knew, but he just _knew_ that Cas was genuine. That this friendship was pure. 

“Hey Cas?” Dean asked one morning, watching as Cas checked the stitches along his side. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“You always do what you’re told, right?” 

“Yes.” Cas replied. “It is my duty to serve Heaven.” 

“So…did Michael tell you to use your grace to stitch me up?” 

“Not specifically, no.” Cas sat back, looking up from the stitches and into Dean’s eyes. “He told me to heal you using any means necessary.” 

“You haven’t told him, have you?” Dean asked, knowing the answer. He could see the apprehension in Cas’s eyes. 

“No.” Cas looked to the ground. “It may be best if he doesn’t know. The treatment is…well, it’s not something he needs to know about.” 

“You rebel, you.” Dean smiled. 

“I have not rebelled.” Cas countered, wordlessly prompting Dean to turn to his other side. “I simply don’t want the apocalypse jeopardized due to any misgivings Michael may have about these treatments.” 

“Wait a minute. Are you saying Michael may choose not to use me if he finds out your grace has had a long-term lease in here?” Dean sat up, looking Cas straight in the eye. 

Cas froze. Dean saw the horrified look on Cas’s face. He’d said too much. 

“That is a possibility.” Cas finally said. “Truthfully, I am unsure how he will react.” 

_Fear._ Dean realized. Cas feared Michael, and his reaction to the stitches. And everything inside Dean told him to get word to Michael immediately. Tell him that Cas had polluted him with his own grace, that Michael would be getting sloppy seconds. 

But…he couldn’t. What if Cas’s crimes were considered truly heinous? What if Michael wanted him dead for it? Cas was an angel, yes. Cas was working with the head angel in an attempt to remove Dean’s will, essentially. But there was something about Cas that seemed almost…well, not quite innocent, but there was a certain naiveté there. Something inside Dean wanted to protect him, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure it was just the stitches. 

“Relax.” Dean gave Cas a little smirk. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.” 

Cas gave an audible sigh of relief before continuing his daily inventory of Dean’s wounds. 

“I need to check your back.” 

“Maybe you could explain something to me.” Dean said as he laid on his stomach. “If you’re all about protecting the humans, then isn’t this little apocalypse thing kinda not ideal? I mean, a lot of humans are going to die.” 

Cas seemed to consider this for a moment, his fingers playing along Dean’s skin as he examined the stitches. 

“I see how you may think that.” Cas’s voice was just above a whisper. “I’ve thought it myself. But it would be paradise on earth for those humans left. And…and it would finally be over.” 

“What would be over?” 

“The fight. The war. Everything we’ve planned for millennia.” Cas had a wrecked look, like a veteran who had seen too many battles. “It would finally be over.” 

“Is it worth it?” Dean sat up again, groaning slightly, his face mere inches from Cas’s. “Didn’t you say God’s final command was to protect us? Not defeat Lucifer, or end some war. But to protect us?” 

He paused for a beat. 

“Most of us don’t know, Cas.” Dean continued. “We don’t even know if there’s a god. We just live our lives. We go to work, eat our Wheaties, and watch the big game on TV. We don’t know about angels and demons. We don’t know about Lucifer and Michael. And to be honest? Most of us really don’t care, not where it counts. We love our families. The people we see every day. Not some angels we’ve never met. And that’s just the truth. You want to protect humans? Then maybe start by not killing them with something they couldn’t even begin to understand.” 

Cas was silent for a long time, his fingers now absent-mindedly trailing along Dean’s shoulder, along the handprint. It was something he had taken to doing when he was thinking, or merely bored. Dean didn’t mind at all. The feeling reminded him of the times Sam would lay his head in his lap when they were very young. It reminded him of warm summer nights, cherry pie, and the purr of Baby’s engine. 

“I’m not sure what to do about that.” Cas said so quietly, Dean almost didn’t hear him. 

“You can fight this.” Dean’s hand gripped the side of Cas’s neck, their eyes locked. “You don’t have to obey every command.” 

“Yes, I do.” Cas replied adamantly. “I’m an angel. I don’t have a choice.” 

“You do!” Dean nearly shouted. “You--” he lowered his voice a bit “—you put these stitches in me, even though you knew they wouldn’t approve--” 

“I don’t know that for certain!” 

“But you didn’t ask! You didn’t ask because you knew the answer. It’s disobedience through the back door, and you know it.” 

Cas focused his attention on the handprint. 

“The stitches are nearly ready to come out.” 

“Don’t try to change the subject!” Dean exclaimed, exasperated. 

“The stitches should be ready for removal by tomorrow,” Cas continued as though he hadn’t heard Dean. “But this…I’m not sure what to do about this.” 

“The handprint?” Dean asked. “Does it matter? I mean, it’s not like it’ll matter once I’m back in my body—oh shit! My body!” Dean suddenly realized. 

“Your brother did not burn your body.” Cas calmed him, as though reading his mind. “It is buried.” 

“Really?” Dean seemed genuinely surprised. “But that wasn’t our deal. We agreed on a salt and burn. A hunter’s send-off.” 

“Well, that’s something you can discuss with Sam when you return to Earth.” Cas shrugged. “But your body is buried. And you should be grateful it is. Had you been burned, things would be a lot more complicated.” 

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Dean conceded. “But back to my original question—why the fuss over the handprint? Once I’m in my body, what will it matter if there’s a scar on my soul?” 

“Because scars like these, like those you endured in Hell, from the stitches, from…from me. They will be reflected in your body.” Cas explained. “Those aren’t ordinary scrapes and burns. You have been marked by beings and forces of immense power. It will leave traces. And any such scars—particularly that one—could be jarring for you when you awaken. We do not know what residual effects it may have upon your flesh.” 

Dean nodded. He might feel the freaky grace bond after he wakes up. And the only reason that would be a problem would be if— 

“I’m not going to remember any of this, am I?” 

Cas shook his head, swallowing hard, suddenly unable to speak. 

Dean felt tears in his eyes, but refused to let them spill over. 

_Pull yourself together._ He told himself. _Who cares if you don’t remember this? He’s some fucking nurse lackey prepping you to be a meat suit. You’re LUCKY you won’t remember this._

But even as those thoughts ran through his head, he knew they couldn’t be further from the truth. 

“Well,” Dean cleared his throat, conjuring up all of his powers of emotional suppression. “That sucks.” 

“Yes.” Cas agreed. “Yes, it does.” 


	7. Chapter 7

It took every ounce of willpower Cas possessed to remove the stitches. 

It took every ounce of willpower Dean possessed to let him. 

It was a simple enough procedure. Cas merely moved his mouth over the stitched areas, lips an inch or two from Dean’s skin. He willed his grace back into his body, and it obeyed easily. The scars were so faint, it was unlikely they would even be noticed. Cas began to feel more whole, his power coming back to full force. 

Then why did he feel so incomplete? 

Dean bit his lip, refusing to make a sound that would give away the sense of loss he felt. _This is a good thing._ He kept telling himself. _You never want some weird crap floating around in your body. You should be celebrating._

Then why did he feel like mourning? 

“So…that’s it, huh?” Dean managed to ask after a long silence. Cas nodded. 

“Yes. Well, except for that.” Cas motioned to the handprint. “Everything I have tried thus far has been unsuccessful at removing it. I will need to do some research.” 

Cas placed his hand over the handprint, as he had done so many times before. 

They stared at each other for a moment. 

“Huh.” Dean grunted, curious. The touch wasn’t nearly as powerful as it had been before. All the warmth—the full force of the connection—seemed to fade. Only a small tingle of fondness remained. 

They continued to stare at each other. Something that could only be described as grief passed between them. 

“The lack of grace within you must have weakened it.” Cas explained. 

“Yeah.” Dean replied. “Yeah, that must be it.” 

“That’s a good thing.” Cas said, unconvincingly. “Any lingering effects will be minimal.” 

“Yeah, a good thing.” Dean echoed, trying to keep the hollowness out of his voice. 

_________________________________________________ 

Cas waited outside the old wooden cottage of Maeve’s Heaven. He had been called in to report on Dean’s progress every couple of days. Interestingly, apart from that one time a couple weeks ago, Michael had not come again to see Dean’s progress in person.

“Well, if it isn’t the angel of the hour!” Michael crowed as Cas stepped into Maeve’s living room. Maeve was seated in the corner by the fireplace, quilting quietly. Michael was seated at the old wooden table, using it as a desk. “Come in! Sit down!” 

Cas sat across from Michael silently. 

“Everyone is talking about my vessel, Castiel. Everyone. So many thought it couldn’t be done—that you wouldn’t be able to mend those Hell wounds. But you proved them wrong.” Michael’s grin was almost maniacal. “My vessel has been walking, talking, and seems ready to go.” 

Cas continued to sit silently. 

“What’s the matter?” Michael took a sip of nectar from a glass chalice on the table. “This could mean big things for you, Castiel. Big things indeed.” 

“My brother,” Cas paused, trying to choose his words carefully. “I have some concerns--” 

“Regarding the vessel?” Michael asked, worry furrowing his brow. 

Cas gave Maeve the briefest of looks, remembering what she had said. 

_Don’t lose your kindness. It sets you apart, in the best way possible._

“No.” Cas replied. He thought of Maeve, Dr. Moore, and Dean. Their bravery. Their raw humanity. And he tried to summon some of that into himself. “No. Regarding the apocalypse.” 

“Really?” Michael quirked his eyebrow in curiosity. “Well, what could the worry be? It’s been written for millennia.” 

“Yes, it has been written,” Cas conceded. “But I can’t help but wonder…what if the apocalypse didn’t happen? What if our differences with Lucifer could be solved by other means?” 

The following pause was uncomfortable, to say the very least. 

“There are no other means.” Michael replied shortly. “This is how it must be, Castiel. How it would always be.” 

“The cost to the humans will be--” 

“WHO CARES ABOUT THEM?!” Michael bellowed. “Castiel, they are nothing to us. Those lucky few who survive shall enjoy our paradise. But make no mistake. It will be OUR paradise.” 

Cas was silent for a few seconds before responding. 

“It was his final command.” Cas said, his calm contrasting starkly with Michael’s anger. “We are to look out for them. Perhaps such a war would not be in their best interest.” 

Michael looked at Cas as though truly seeing him for the first time. 

“Being so close to the Winchester boy has clearly done things to you.” Michael said, more sadness than accusation in his voice. “Listen carefully, Castiel. You will finish healing my vessel. You will return him to his body. You will then report back to me. There will be no deviation from this plan. Is that clear?” 

Cas nodded, but embers of defiance remained in his eyes. 

“You are dismissed.” Michael snapped. “Oh, and get that damn handprint off him.” Michael threw a book, _Treatment of Spiritual Burns,_ to Cas as he left the room. 

_______________________________________________________________ 

“The First Touch.” Cas said. “It’s the first time my grace touched your soul. I didn’t understand what that meant before, but I do now.”

Dean nodded. A shared understanding. The connection—the fire—that flowed between them. The stitches. All of it was born in that first touch. That hand upon Dean’s shoulder. Raw grace upon soul, searing their link. 

“I wasn’t sure how to rid you of the scar, but I have since acquired the healing charm to do so.” 

Cas looked pleased at this. Dean smiled back at him half-heartedly. 

“Cas, I’m glad you found a way.” Dean said awkwardly. “That’s awesome. But…maybe…I dunno. I kinda want the scar to stay.” 

Cas looked at Dean, his usual puzzled head-tilt in place. 

“Why?” 

“I want to…I want to remember.” Dean finished lamely. “I want to see where you touched me.” Dean looked up, almost blushing. “I don’t care if it’s a chick flick moment. I want to see the moment my best friend came into my life.” 

“But Dean, you won’t remember any of this.” Cas said, trying to hide the agony in his voice. “Your time here—the healing, the rescue, every conversation we’ve had here—you won’t remember any of it.” 

Dean considered for a moment. 

“Leave the handprint.” He finally said. “Maybe…maybe someday I will remember. And even if I don’t. I…I want it anyway.” 

Cas stared into his friend’s eyes, almost losing himself in that warmth. That raw friendship. 

“Okay.” He replied. “I will leave it.” 


	8. Chapter 8

They stood in the wooded area where Sam had buried Dean’s body. 

“I don’t know how long it will be.” Cas said. “After your soul enters your body, it may be days or even weeks before you awaken. In that time, any number of horrors could befall your body as it attempts to integrate your soul.” 

“I understand.” Dean said, his eyes never leaving Cas’s. 

“Demons, grave robbers, even something as basic as the elements could harm your body as your soul adjusts to it. I’m sorry, but keeping your body buried is the best way to protect it.” Castiel stared at the oval of disturbed earth beside them. It had been months, but the freshness of the grave was still evident. 

“When you awaken, you will have to dig yourself out.” Cas looked to the grave and swallowed hard. Dean actually chuckled. 

“I’ve endured worse.” He shrugged. “Digging through a few feet of dirt is nothing.” 

Neither was sure who made the first move, but suddenly the two men were embracing. They no longer felt the grace bond, but there was definitely something there. Some remnant. 

_A residue,_ Michael had called it. But it wasn’t just that. It was something else. Something not born of grace. Something far more simple. Far more…human. 

“Okay! Let’s do this.” Dean sniffed as he stepped back from the angel. 

Cas looked up at Dean. “I swear, I will do all I can to prevent Michael from taking you as a vessel.” 

Dean smiled through his tears. “I know you will, Cas.” 

Another long look between them. Cas pressed his hands against Dean’s chest. 

A rush of energy struck down upon them, around them. Dean felt like he had become static—all tingles and ringing and pulsing, invisible waves crashing upon him. Surely this was what it felt like to be at the center of a nuclear blast. 

Then Dean felt nothing. 

______________________________________________________ 

Cas found himself once more in Maeve’s Heaven. She wasn’t around. Instead,  
two large angels stood next to the table where Michael was seated.

“It is finished.” Cas announced. “Dean Winchester is healed and in his body.” 

“Good.” Michael replied shortly. “You will now be escorted to Naomi.” 

“What?” Cas’s eyes grew large with terror. “Naomi? Why--” 

“You know why.” Michael nodded to the two angels, now standing on either side of Cas. “Ephraim, Aliel, see to it that Castiel is taken directly to Naomi. I will be there shortly.” 

____________________________________________________ 

Naomi and Michael stood over the unmoving Castiel in the chair. The device  
around his head had rendered him unconscious.

“He did _what_ with his grace?” Michael asked, beyond disgusted. 

“He used it as stitches to hold the human’s soul together.” Naomi repeated, equally repulsed. “Sir, we can simply dispose of this angel now. He is clearly defective.” 

Michael thought for a moment. “No,” he finally said. “No, he can still be useful. This… _bond_ he has with the human, does anyone else know about it?” 

“No.” Naomi replied. 

“Good. You are to speak to no one of this, understood?” 

Naomi nodded. 

“I would like you to erase the last two weeks from Castiel’s memory.” Michael continued. “Give him the memory of rescuing Dean and healing him, but strip it of any detail. Then feed him the lie we have fed some of the other dissenters regarding the apocalypse.” 

“Yes, sir.” Naomi replied. She knew what he meant. Any angel who was not on board with the apocalypse was given the idea that Heaven was trying to prevent it. Those angels in favor of the apocalypse were told to feed into this lie around the dissenters. The plan had thus far worked quite well. The dissenters could be manipulated into doing Heaven’s work without any loss in their numbers. 

“What about the vessel?” Naomi asked. “Surely you don’t plan on using it?” She curled her nose at the thought. 

“I believe I will.” Michael replied. “Yes, he has been sullied. But the vessel is essentially still good, and still remains my best chance at defeating Lucifer. Besides, this bond Castiel has forged with him may prove useful. We may be able to use it to manipulate him. Both of them.” 

Naomi’s grin was nothing short of predatory. 

“Well, I should let you get to work.” Michael smiled back before leaving the room. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Ten Days Later**

Castiel had tried to communicate with Dean Winchester in his true form, but the human had proven not to be one of the few who could handle it. The human proved quite persistent in trying to figure out who had raised him from Hell, going so far as to use a Seer to gaze upon him. That had been most unfortunate. 

He was grateful when Jimmy Novak had finally said yes. Castiel needed to deliver the message to Dean. Heaven had work for him. He was needed to stop the apocalypse. 

Castiel strode into the barn where Dean and his friend had summoned him. There was something odd about this encounter. It wasn’t the humans shooting him with salt, or their distrust. That was to be expected. 

There was a…pull. Something Castiel could not quite place. It wasn’t particularly strong, but as he looked into the eyes of Dean Winchester, he knew the human felt it, too. 

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Castiel told him. 

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Dean replied before stabbing him with a demon blade. Castiel did not flinch, and pulled it out. He made quick work of putting Dean’s friend to sleep. 

“We need to talk, Dean. Alone.” 

Dean looked up from his friend’s sleeping body, his anger evident. 

“Your friend is alive.” Cas assured him. 

“Who are you?” 

“Castiel.” 

“Yeah, I figured that much. I mean what are you?” 

“I’m an angel of the Lord.” Castiel replied, looking up from the book and into Dean’s eyes. Their eyes locked as Dean stood up, and he felt it again. That pull. What _was_ that? An almost imperceptible tug against his grace. 

“Get the hell out of here. There’s no such thing.” 

“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.” With a push of his grace, Castiel unfurled his wings, the shadows playing on the wall behind him. 

A brief conversation about his true form, and how it can overwhelm humans. An explanation regarding vessels. 

“And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?” 

“Good things do happen, Dean.” 

“Not in my experience.” 

“What’s the matter?” Castiel looked at Dean, a little confused by his reaction to being saved, but far more so by this…this _thing_ between them. He looked at Dean a little longer, willing himself to read just the surface of the human’s mind for answers. 

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” Castiel realized, and that tore at him more than it ought to have. 

“Why’d you do it?” Dean asked. 

“Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.” 

They shared another long look. Castiel couldn’t help himself. He gently placed a hand upon Dean’s shoulder, where he had touched him upon his rescue. Dean looked like he was about to react violently, but then stopped. 

He felt it. They both felt it. It was slight, but clearly there. A bond. Something profound. And neither of them knew why. 

But they knew there was no turning back. 


End file.
